First it was harmless: “My Wi-Fi isn’t working. Could he take a look?” Then, “My car won’t start—he’s always been good with engines.” After that, the favors multiplied. Rides to the airport. Help reviewing a lease. Carrying boxes up three flights of stairs. Late-night calls about minor emergencies that somehow required immediate attention.

And every single time, he said yes.

When I told him it made me uneasy, he waved it away. “She doesn’t really have anyone else,” he’d say. “It’s just practical.”

I tried to be understanding. I didn’t want to seem jealous or insecure. I reminded myself that compassion wasn’t a crime.

But the night he left our anniversary dinner because Sarah’s kitchen sink was leaking—that was the moment something shifted.

We were halfway through our meal. Candles on the table. Music playing softly. My phone buzzed in his pocket, and I saw the familiar name flash across his screen.